13000 miles, and still no sign of land.
Water everywhere, salty, stinging, poisoning my body.
At least I am able to float.
But for how much longer?
Ships passing, not even giving me a second glance.
Storms, waves. Bitten by sharks and whales.
My life, surely, has ended.
But I will not give up.
There will be land, a beach, and a place to land, and rest.
A place to die.
I see it in the distance.
And, for once, the wind is blowing me towards it.
What are the white waters I can see?
Oh, no, surely not.
The tide would have to turn first,
before I make my final approach.
Else, it will be all in vain.
My life will be smashed out of my bruised and battered body, and I will be broken up.
I need to hold back, for only a few more hours, till the tide is up.
Floating now is easy, it's staying alive that's hard.
Pounding waves, seething waters, turning tides.
At last I see my chance, my last gasp attempt.
I reach out to the beach, it reaches out to me.
Typically the sea is keen to empty it's bowels of all things foreign.
And I am one such object, so, dump me please!
Beached. Sand blown, water logged.
My system poisoned by the salt water.
My exterior ruined by the prolonged exposure to this harsh and unforgiving sun.
But, I have made it. I can die in peace.